To Get Back to You
by skygirl55
Summary: Three weeks. Three weeks since she'd seen him. Richard Castle had been missing for three weeks. Spoilers through 6X04
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: In my mind this would take place sometime shortly after episode 6x04**

* * *

**One**

Three weeks. Three weeks since she'd seen him. Three weeks since she saw his smile, heard his laugh or felt his lips against hers. Richard Castle had been missing for three weeks.

Most mornings when she woke for one fleeting moment she believed it was all in her imagination; a horrible nightmare. Though he wasn't beside her in bed, he was in the shower or in the kitchen making her one of his ridiculous pancake smile breakfasts. Then, as she pushed herself up to a sitting position she would realize the shower water wasn't running and there was no aroma of vanilla and cinnamon filling the apartment. He wasn't there and that fact hit her like an eighteen wheeler to the chest every single time.

Her chest would begin to heave, her breath coming in short spurts. She would throw off the blankets as the sweat formed across her brow at her hairline, at the base of her neck and down the top of her spine. Scurrying to the bathroom, she would pull off her pajama pants and t-shirt as she went, the clothing suffocating her. She was unable to wait for the shower water to warm to the desired temperature before she would stumble inside, hands running against the smooth tile, stand beneath the spray and allow herself one moment—just one moment—to be completely overwhelmed with loss.

That morning had started like any other: sun shining, birds chirping, rainbows forming in the skies overhead. At least, that's how it felt for the newly engaged and blissful couple. Kate awoke to him dusting kisses across her jaw and down her neck, his stubble scratching her in the way that made her groan and swat at him. Per usual, this did nothing to halt his advances and before she even fully opened her eyes he was already pulling off her pajama pants and panties.

When she stepped out of the shower after their morning encounter, the loft was filled with the delicious aroma of coffee and cinnamon: two of her favorite things. She practically skipped—yes, blissfully engaged Kate Beckett did know how to skip—into the kitchen where he was waiting with his sexy bed-head of floppy hair. At her chosen seat at the counter he placed a steaming mug of java and his infamous cinnamon swirl pancakes, which she doused in syrup before digging in.

"You keep feeding me like this, Castle, and I'll never fit in to a wedding dress," she'd teased him, knowing full well that the pre-Rick-and-Kate breakfast for her had been a banana and possibly some instant oatmeal if she was in the mood to "cook" that morning.

"Impossible," he'd retorted. "You haven't even bought a dress yet. I'm sure they go up to size twenty or so…"

She'd glared at his smirk before shoving another fork-full of pancake into her mouth.

As they ate, they chatted about their plans for that day. She was busy preparing for a trial so there would be no case for them, but he agreed that was fine; he had writing to get done anyway. When she offered to meet him for lunch, he'd refused at first, saying that he might be too busy writing. When she arched an eyebrow at him, he'd laughed and confessed, "Just kidding. I'm never too busy writing to hang out with you." He'd kissed her and added, "But seriously, better text me first just on the off chance I'm actually in the middle of a good scene."

"Whatever you say, Castle," she'd smiled. Then, with another kiss they parted.

That was the last time she saw him.

She relived that scene in her mind dozens if not a hundred times over the prior twenty-one days. Her brain searched for clues, searched for any sign, any indicator that something was amiss, but there was nothing. It was just Castle; regular, ridiculous Castle. She had no way of knowing that day would be the one that changed her life forever.

"Detective?" Gates' voice roused her from her thoughts. Kate sat, elbow on her desk, chin propped up in her open palm and she stared distantly at her computer screen. She always forced herself to stare straight ahead because if she turned her head to the side and caught a glimpse of his vacant chair it was like losing him all over again. The ache, the trembling, the twisting knife in her gut.

Kate's eyes shifted in the direction of her commanding officer and she saw Gates gesture for her to come to her office. With a deep breath, she pushed her palms flat against the desk to assist in the standing process. She took the twenty steps to Gates' office looking straight ahead, refusing meet any of her colleagues eyes.

The pitiful looks she received from her coworkers infuriated her. Didn't they know she felt bad enough without them cocking their heads to the side and telling her not to worry? As if that would make her feel better! The only thing that would make her feel better would be Richard Castle stepping off the elevator and walking towards her with two cups of coffee and that wasn't going to happen.

"Please have a seat, Detective," Gates said, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of her desk. When Kate sat, she did as well. She folded her fingers together and rested her joined fists on the desk before gazing over at the younger woman. "I'm sorry, Detective, but we're going to have to suspend the investigation."

Kate lunged forward in her seat, uncrossing her legs. "Sir-"

"Detective."

"But sir!"

"Kate." Gates spoke forcefully, silencing Kate and making her lean back in her chair. Softening her expression, Gates continued. "I'm sorry, but there just isn't anything here. No leads. No clues. We don't even know where he was last seen. We've done everything we can, Detective, but there's just nothing there."

Gates took a deep breath, sighed and gave Kate an expression of genuine sympathy. "Please understand that if there was anything to go on I'd be more than willing to devote resources to it. I want to see Mr. Castle return just as much as the next person, but with other cases coming in, my hands are tied."

Kate dropped her chin to her chest. "I understand." Gates was right; she knew Gates was right.

If this had been any other missing person, the investigation wouldn't have even gone on this long. Gates had already been more than generous, pushing the boundaries of their normal protocol to search for someone who was as close to a cop as anyone could get without actually going through the academy. Gates had allowed Ryan, Esposito, and herself to run the case almost without interruption, but she had to draw the line somewhere. It was, after all, her precinct.

After clearing her throat, Kate looked up. "Thank you, Sir; I appreciate everything you've done."

Gates nodded. "I am truly sorry, Detective. I promise you that the moment anything new comes in we'll reopen this case." Kate nodded, but otherwise didn't move. Gates stood, walked around to the other side of her desk and sat down just inches from the younger woman. Keeping her tone soft, she said, "Why don't you go home, take some time off—some time for yourself. When you're ready to come back, we'll be here."

Kate nodded, knowing this move well. It was the I-don't-think-you're-fit-for-duty-but-I-don't-want -to-come-out-and-say-it-or-make-a-perminant-record -so-why-don't-you-try-to-handle-it-on-your-own move. She would have been lying if she hadn't seen it coming. "Thank you, Captain."

By the time she returned to the squad room, Ryan and Esposito were dismantling the missing-Richard-Castle whiteboard. When they spotted her, they froze as though they were twin four-year-olds whose mother caught them finger painting on the wall. Again.

For several moments Kate stared at his picture—a headshot of his she had chosen because she knew it was one of his favorites—and the date above it. She was getting that feeling again: the one that made it feel like her heart and lungs had been put in a vice. The longer she stared, the tighter it squeezed. Finally, unable to tolerate another second, she tore her gaze away and walked back to her desk.

"We're gonna get him back, Beckett," Esposito said encouragingly.

She forced a smile and looked at him and then to Ryan. For their faith alone, she loved them more than she could ever say. Right from the beginning—right from those first hours when she couldn't get a hold of him—they were there. They never for one second believed what the others said: Richard Castle had disappeared by his own choosing. He'd followed a story. Followed an intoxicating woman. Followed a crazy dream and became a Cosmonaut.

Ryan and Esposito never believed any of that. They had known Castle for five years as well and over that time they'd come to know the same thing she knew in her gut to be true: there was absolutely no way that Castle would leave her, his daughter, or his mother without saying something. It just wasn't possible. That wasn't the kind of person he was. Wherever he went on the fateful morning of September 17th, he had every intention of returning within a few hours.

"Thanks guys," she said, before clearing her throat of hoarseness. "I'm gonna, uh, go. Call me if…"

"Of course," Ryan told her, smiling. "Don't worry, Beckett; we're on the case."

She nodded at them before grabbing her jacket and leaving the precinct. The only way she could go was knowing they would stay behind and continue searching—behind Gates' back if that's what it took. They would never give up and neither would she.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

She'd barely made it half a block before she was in a battle to the death with her own emotions. That's who she was; a fighter. Every time her lips would tremble, she would smash them together and force the tremors to subside. If her eyes began to burn she would clench her fists, digging her fingernails into her palms, using the pain to distract herself. She wouldn't break down, not here; not now. She feared—she knew—if the floodgates opened she would never be able to close them again. She just had to make it home—to his home, the loft.

As she walked, the cool autumn breeze dancing leaves around her, she hugged her elbows and remembered it: September 17th.

Just as he requested, she'd texted him shortly after noon, saying she needed a break and was going out to lunch. Within fifteen minutes he had not responded, which to her meant one of two things had happened: either a) he was actually in the writing zone and too preoccupied to respond or b) he was distracted with something (more than likely a video game) and didn't notice her text. She decided to call him, but the phone went straight to voicemail. Deciding he was busy, she hung up without leaving a message and went with Ryan and Esposito to get a pastrami sandwich.

After a monotonous afternoon of sitting at her desk, she was more than ready for a little quality time with her fiancé. On her way back to the loft she was mentally deciding the best way to rib him for being too busy to answer her text the entire afternoon. What, she wondered, did he have Nikki Heat up to now?

When she walked into the loft, she came face to face with Martha's crestfallen expression. "Richard isn't with you?" she asked.

"What? No. He's writing," she responded simply.

"He's not," Martha insisted. "I've been home for an hour and I haven't seen him; I thought he was with you."

Kate's brow furrowed and she pulled out her phone. She speed-dialed his number and once again it went directly to voicemail. "It's me; call me back when you get this. Where are you?" Her message was brief and to the point. She gave Martha a slight shrug before walking into the bedroom, removing her boots and hanging up her suit jacket. She exited the bedroom through Castle's office and gazed casually over at his desk. What she saw, or, rather, what she _didn't_ see, caused her cop instincts to go on high alert.

"His laptop is gone." Kate informed Martha, rushing back into the kitchen area.

"Is it? That's odd." Martha commented.

This wasn't right; she just knew it wasn't right. Castle rarely left the loft to write. He claimed he was far too easily distracted when he went to coffee shops or other public venues. Also, frequent interruptions (like when fans recognized him) only slowed his already glacial-at-times process, so he preferred to stay in the loft to write, which meant his laptop also stayed inside the loft.

"Perhaps he went somewhere to write?" Martha speculated.

"Where?" Kate asked, mostly rhetorically. On the off occasion he did go someplace like the public library to write he _always_ put his phone on vibrate and left it in his pocket so he would know if someone was trying to get a hold of him (aka if she was calling with a case he could use as an excuse to prolong completing his next chapter).

"I'll call Alexis—maybe she's spoken with him. He's got to be somewhere; he didn't just _vanish,_" Martha said.

But that's what Kate's gut was telling her. Something was wrong. He wouldn't just disappear, turn his phone off, and not tell her. Even if he had carelessly let his phone battery die, he would not have been away from the loft past six. His stomach practically had its own alarm clock for dinner.

For the next three hours she called him every fifteen minutes with no avail; the number was still going direct to voicemail. As she dialed Esposito she tried to tell herself it was crazy; she was being silly. This was ridiculous and there was absolutely a rational explanation for all of it. She tried to laugh it off as she asked Espo to call in the favor he owed with one of the guys in tech. One phone trace; that's all she needed. He protested at first, but after she pleaded with him the third time, he caved.

A half hour that felt like several days passed before Esposito called her back. Tech was unable to trace the phone, which only meant that the phone was off and unable to be turned on, which meant the battery was dead or destroyed. "Don't worry Kate; I'm sure he'll check in soon," he had told her.

But she did worry. She sat up that whole night waiting for him to call or come home, but he never did. She went to work with deep circles under her eyes and sat ridged at her desk waiting for him to step off the elevator with coffee and an outlandish story, but he never did. When Esposito and Ryan arrived, they were laughing. They asked Kate what Castle's excuse was for not calling the prior evening and that's when she told them: she still hadn't heard from him. The three of them went to Gates to present their case.

"You know the rule, Detective. Forty-eight hours before reporting a missing person. How long has it been since you've spoken to Mr. Castle?"

"Twenty-five hours, forty-two minutes," she responded promptly.

Gates looked at the three of them, her expression slightly unnerved. "Alright, you can trace his phone but-"

"We, uh, may have already done that," Esposito confessed casually.

"And?" Gates asked. Espo shook his head. Gates suggested they look into his known hangouts; he was bound to be somewhere.

Except he wasn't. At the forty-eight hour mark, Kate's hands shook as she filled out the official missing person's report. Gates took it from her with a sympathetic smile and agreed with a nod when Kate requested to open an immediate investigation. Since then, their search had been filled with a never-ending series of dead ends, tireless false leads, and a whole lot of nothing.

When she arrived at the loft, she stood in the hall unsure of how to proceed with the day; her life. She'd been officially moved in for barely six weeks. When celebrating her reinstatement to the NYPD at the Old Haunt, Castle had asked her to officially move in with him. They were engaged so they should be living together, he'd said. Maybe it was the third glass of wine she'd had, but the normal hesitant Kate Beckett didn't feel the need to come out that night, she'd happily agreed and had been living at the loft ever since. Now, suddenly, being there felt wrong.

She stepped into their bedroom and looked around. Her knickknacks were mixed with his. Her clothing hung next to his. Everything that was hers or his, side by side, but this was not right. This couldn't be. How could she stay here if he wouldn't be next to her?

Fight or flight instinct hit her like a bullet; she had to get out of there. How could she stay one more second and stare at his empty side of the bed? How could she smell his pillow knowing that the scent of him was fading and mostly in her own memory? How could she sit on the couch and not think of his warm, solid frame beside her whispering ridiculous things in her ear during every commercial break?

She hurried to the closet and flicked on the light. She eyed her Louis Vuitton trunk suitcase on the top shelf, reached for it and missed. Damn, why did he have to store it on the highest shelf? She jumped and missed again. On the third try she grasped the handle, but failed to accurately remember just how heavy it was. The suitcase slipped from her grasp and she cowered to the side as it crashed to the floor, the corner painfully jabbing her arm as it did so. At least it was down. She dragged the item into the bedroom and flipped it open. God, why did everything have to remind her of him? Even this suitcase.

During their first weekend getaway to the Hamptons he had laughed at her suitcase. _Laughed_ at it. It was, in his opinion, pathetic. She would be the first to admit that it wasn't the shiniest or newest, but it had served her well over the years. The American Tourister piece had been a high school graduation gift from her parents and she'd been using it ever since.

Just before their second trip together he'd surprised her with the Louie trunk. She'd initially refused, stating that the five-thousand-plus dollar piece was way too extravagant, but in true Richard Castle fashion he had not taken no for an answer. In fact, he'd made her accepting the suitcase gift a condition of traveling together. Begrudgingly, she'd accepted the gift, but always teased him about the "burden" he was putting on her each and every time she used it. Since the handle and wheels of her Tourister had "mysteriously" fallen off, the Louie was the only real piece of luggage she had, so she had no choice but to use it to pack up her things.

She grabbed an armful of bras and underwear from the chest of drawers and dumped them unceremoniously into the open trunk. She then went to the next drawer and did the same with her pajamas. By the time she was going for the third trip, slamming drawers and tripping over the trunk multiple times as she went, Martha had entered the room.

"My goodness—what's going on here?" she demanded.

Kate froze mid-way across the room with four pairs of jeans in her arms. "I can't stay here," She confessed before walking to the trunk and dumping the jeans inside. "I'm sorry. I have to… I can't…" The tears she'd fought so hard to suppress finally spilled out as she spoke to the older woman. Her hands began to tremble and she brought them up to her face, trying to hide her emotions.

"Katharine, Katharine. Calm down," Martha said, approaching and grasping each of Kate's arms in hers. "What it is? What's happened?"

Kate sat back on the bed with Martha beside her and sniffed. "Gates suspended the investigation today. She was right to; it's not her fault but… but it's over. It's done. We can't investigate and if we can't find…he won't…what if…what if he doesn't come back? What if we never find him?"

For the first time since his disappearance, sobs completely overtook her body. She wept violently as Martha pulled her into her arms and stroked her hair. Kate's hands remained pinned to her cheeks as though they would hold back the tears, but her efforts were fruitless. The stream of salty liquid poured from beneath her eyelids, unable to be stanched until it had run itself dry.

Martha rocked her gently back and forth as she rubbed her back, fighting back her own emotions. "Oh my darling girl. I know. I know, but you have to have faith. I know it's hard, but you've got to. Richard will be back. You've got to know that he would fight heaven and earth to get back here to us."

"But what if-"

"Shh. No buts. He will come back or you will find him. I would expect nothing less of the NYPD's finest detective." As Kate's sobs subsided, Martha pushed the younger girl up enough to be able to look into her face and force a smile. "Now let's forget about all this packing nonsense and go have ourselves a beverage, hmm?"

Kate's eyes darted to the suitcase and then back to her future mother-in-law. "But Martha, I shouldn't-"

Martha shook her head knowingly. "What did I say about buts? This is your home, Katharine Beckett; you're family and you're not leaving."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Happy Thanksgiving to everyone in the USA!**

* * *

**Three**

Kate Beckett hated doing nothing. Unlike her significant other, she did not find joy in the days where her "To Do" list consisted of a blank piece of paper with stick figure drawings in the corners. Even if she took a vacation, she liked to have activities planned out; she needed something to occupy her time.

Despite her need for a purpose, she still struggled to concentrate. Every few minutes her gut would clench or her breath would hitch. She'd see him out of the corner of her eye almost every hour. Expect him to walk up from behind and hug her and kiss her cheek. When those things never happened, it felt like losing him all over again.

On her third day away from the twelfth she decided the best thing for her to do would be to clean the loft. She didn't mind cleaning. In fact, it soothed her. Cleaning was methodical and purposeful. Cleaning was something she could control. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail, rolled up her sleeves and set to work; the shelves of Castle's office, filled with tchotchkes and toys, had the words "dust me" written all over them.

As she dismantled, cleaned and replaced one shelf at a time, Kate's thoughts drifted back to the precinct. What were Ryan and Esposito doing? Had they found anything new about Castle's case? No, of course not. They would have called her the moment did.

Almost a month with no solid leads. The thought of that alone was almost so crushing she could hardly bare it. She was a cop and had been for over a decade. She knew the statistics; she knew what that meant. She knew Ryan and Esposito did their best to distract her from that fact and they did a good job of it most days.

A week earlier, during one of her darker moments, Kate had escaped to the break room, needing a chance to regulate her breathing after the sight of the empty chair beside her desk had her in a near tailspin. Esposito followed her and placed her hand on her shoulder as she leaned against the counter and focused on her inhales and exhales.

"He's gone, isn't he? I wish someone would just say it. You're all thinking it, but no one has the balls to just say it."

"He's not gone, Beckett," Esposito assured her.

She looked up at him and peered through the curtain of her hair. "You know the stats as well as I do. If an adult is missing for this long than more than likely-"

"Don't say it," he tried to stop her.

"-they're dead," she finished, her voice holding steady by some miracle. The tears burned along the outer edges of her eyes as she stared up at him. "What if he's dead, Espo?"

His tone was firm as he spoke. "He's not dead."

"But how-"

"Because I just know," he countered. "He's not dead, Kate."

She shook her head and stepped away, folding her arms across her chest and latching her hands onto her elbows. If Castle wasn't dead then the statistics told her there was only one other likely option. "Then what if they're right? What if he ran off and-"

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Esposito's brow knitted together as he approached. "You can't; it's ridiculous. Five years I've watched that man follow you around like he was a starving mutt and you had a juicy bone in your coat pocket. If the entire _Sports Illustrated_ swim suit edition was standing in front of him inviting him out for drinks he'd still pick a murder case with you over them. It's sick really."

Esposito's attempt at making her smile worked and an ever so slight one cracked through her otherwise morose expression.

"That man didn't leave you, Kate," he continued. "And if you don't believe me, believe that ring on your finger."

Ever since the last day she'd seen him, Kate had forgone putting her ring on the chain with her mother's every morning and instead chose to wear it in its proper location. For a reason she could not explain, this act made her feel better. The ring served as a sign that she was still engaged; that she had not yet given up on him, so she would continue to wear it until the day he returned to her.

Two hours into her cleaning endeavor, Kate had barely finished one third of the shelves in the office. Looking around at all the items she'd come to know over the years she was amazed. There was so much stuff! How had she never noticed just _how many_ strange, random things he had all together in one space. There were dozens of figurines, vases and statures. Some were high-end pieces with significant value. Others, were Made-in-China figurines procured from Happy Meals.

On the shelves nearest to his desk she picked a small earthen pot she hadn't taken much notice to in the past. It stood several inches tall and equally as wide with a broad mouth. The exterior was glazed while the interior left raw. Intrigued, she flipped the pot over to see if there were any markings on the bottom. As she did so, a folded piece of paper floated to the floor.

She replaced the pot on the shelf, bent down and picked up the paper. It was a plain white sheet that appeared to be folded several time. She flipped it over in her hands and a cold sweat immediately formed across her skin. _IF I EVER DISAPPEAR_ was written in bold letters across one of the folds in Castle's messy scrawl.

Unnerved, Kate's looked up and her eyes darted around the apartment to see if her discovery had been some sort of ruse. She would not have put it past Castle to pop out of a closet at that moment, scare her to death, and then proclaim that the prior four weeks had all been part of an elaborate "Gotcha" scheme from him, perhaps a retaliation for her faux-murder-mystery birthday present.

She waited for a solid minute, but nothing happened, so she turned back to the paper she held and slowly began to unfold it. Her heart rate sped and her hands began to feel clammy. With trembling fingers, she held the page in her hand to discover it had once been a sheet of regular copy paper torn in half. At the top corner was a date: November 1, 2010. She swallowed hard and began to read.

_If I ever disappear:_

_1) Please don't be mad—I was probably doing it for a story_

_2) Linus has a copy of my will_

_3) The keys to the safety deposit boxes are in the wall safe_

_4) The wall safe combination is Alexis's birthday_

_5) I'm in love with Kate Beckett—please make sure she knows_

The final item on the list made her breath hitch in her chest and her hands shake so much she nearly dropped the page. She scanned the letter again and thought about the date, November 2010, almost exactly three years prior. What was happening at that time? She was with Josh and Castle…was back with his ex-wife Gina! His "just in case" wish was that she know his true feelings while he was with another woman? No, she couldn't think about that; she was already at her emotional processing limit.

Still holding the sheet, she walked from the office to the bedroom and sat at the edge of the bed. Castle must have forgotten he put the paper there, that much was clear, but for the life of her she could not decipher the second item. Linus had a copy of his will? She knew his lawyer's name was Shawn Peterson and Linus was not the name of his agent or publisher. Linus…Linus. She brought the paper up to rest against her upper lip and though. Linus.

Suddenly, it hit her. The eight foot high black and white hanging just a few feet from their bed. The one that creeped her out every night as she tried to fall asleep with it watching her. It was a lion. Lion-us! Well played, Castle, she thought.

She tossed the note aside and fell to her knees in front of the picture. The picture and frame would be too large and heavy for her to remove by herself so she decided to feel gently around the edges to see what she could discover. At the very center of the bottom her fingers came in contact with an envelope. With some gentle rocking and tugging she was able to loosen it enough for it to fall to the ground. The plain manila envelope wasn't sealed, so she was easily able to slide the document out into her lap.

_Last Will and Testament_

_I, Richard Edgar Castle, hereby bequeath the following:_

_To my daughter, Alexis Castle, all forthcoming royalties for my Derrick Storm novels and a trust fund in the amount of twenty million dollars available to her on her twenty-first birthday. Before then, withdrawals can only be made to pay for college tuition._

_To my mother, Martha Rodgers, the loft on Broom Street, forthcoming royalties for my first books (pre-Derrick Storm), and ten million dollars._

_The remainder of my earthly possessions including my home in Southampton, NY, all forthcoming royalties from the Nikki Heat books, and the remainder of my fortune and investments I leave to the extraordinary Katharine Beckett without whom I would not be the man I am today_.

Kate couldn't breathe.

The page dropped to her lap but she remained frozen with her hands in front of her, index finger and thumbs pinched together as though she was still holding the sheet. This couldn't happen; this wasn't possible.

He'd left her everything. Everything! Well, everything minus thirty million dollars and the loft. Dear God, how much was that!?

They'd never specifically discussed their finances and, quite frankly, Kate wasn't even sure she wanted to know exactly what his "number" was; she feared it would be too intimidating. However, the prior year when Tyson had tried to frame him for murder, the boys had dug into Castle's financials and she knew at that point that, all assets included, he was worth somewhere in the neighborhood of seventy-five million. Considering he'd published an additional Nikki Heat book in that time, she could only assume that number had grown.

Suddenly, she felt the overwhelming desire for an alcoholic beverage. She picked up the will and carried it with her into the kitchen. She grabbed one of her favorite bottles of wine and dumped half of it into one of Castle's oversized glasses and took several large gulps. She then returned the wine to the cooler so as not to tempt herself with the remainder of the bottle and gazed down at the will on the counter as though it was the viper she was having a staring contest with.

Twenty minutes later when Martha arrived home Kate still hadn't moved, though her wine glass had been drained. "What is it, Katharine?" Martha asked as she approached. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Kate pointed to the documents on the counter. "I, uh, I found Castle's will but…but this isn't right—this can't be right."

Martha picked up the pages from the counter and examined them. "Oh yes, this is the newest version." By the time she looked back up, Kate had paled a shade.

"This isn't…I…he shouldn't have… It can't be…"

Martha walked over and grasped the hands of the younger woman. "Of course it's right, Dear. He had it changed while you were still in DC. And yes, he told me all about it. It was what he wanted. He loves you."

Kate shook her head slowly, unable to comprehend the gravity of what all of this meant. "But this…I can't."

"You can and you will," Martha told her firmly. "But we don't need to worry about any of this right now." Martha looped her arm around Kate's elbow and guided her towards the bedroom as though she were a reluctant mule. "Why don't you put on something nice and we'll go out to lunch, alright?"

"Okay," she agreed distantly knowing there would be no way for her to properly thank Martha for all she had done—all her attempts at distraction—over the prior weeks. Kate didn't know what she would have done without her.


End file.
